


The Naked Truth

by FancyTrinkets



Series: Ineffable Audioerotica [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley makes bold assumptions, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Masturbation, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Apocalypse, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 05:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21453145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyTrinkets/pseuds/FancyTrinkets
Summary: The one in which Crowley records a second pornographic audiobook and tries to find out what Aziraphale is thinking.There was something particularly freeing about sitting in a dark room and speaking softly into a microphone. It felt private and safe, like a confessional, but without the creepy priest to hear his sins. He was about to say something he knew he'd probably regret.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Audioerotica [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546456
Comments: 144
Kudos: 615
Collections: Ineffable Audioerotica





	The Naked Truth

**Author's Note:**

> I suggest reading [The Angel Line](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20489930) first. It's a quick read, other people seem to like it a whole lot, and maybe you will, too.
> 
> This fic is beta read by [cassieoh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh/works) (formerly ZiZzy), who also created art for it, which you'll find embedded at the end.

Crowley recorded the second audiobook for its therapeutic effects. He needed something to distract him from the unmitigated anxiety of thinking about the first one.  
  
He wasn't even sure if Aziraphale had listened to the first one. What if he had been buying audiobooks at random? Maybe he'd try selling them to people in hopes they'd leave his first editions alone? That sounded like something Aziraphale might do.  
  
His racing thoughts were starting to get on his nerves. Crowley silenced them the best way he knew how — with an intricate project designed to achieve an incredibly specific purpose. In this case, his aim was to suss out exactly how much Aziraphale understood about his online store, his not-so-clever pseudonyms, and the lovelorn feelings he'd openly confessed while narrating the exploits of Roger and Zark.  
  
The first step in his grand plan was to find another book to record. He had specific requirements for both the plot and the characters, which made it difficult to find something suitable by searching online. He steadfastly refused to read more than he absolutely had to, so he needed to get the perfect book on the first try.  
  
Crowley was good at a lot of things — and he knew it — but finding works of contemporary fiction was not among his talents. Any other week, he would have been proud of that fact, but as it stood, he was going to need help for this one. He couldn't exactly ask Aziraphale for assistance, which left him with only one option.   
  
He would have to solicit help from a human.  
  
Since it felt treasonous to visit a bookshop that wasn't Aziraphale's, Crowley opted for a library. That, it turned out, was a very good decision.  
  
The library-human listened to him carefully as he explained the parameters for his book search. They even asked clarifying questions to better understand what he meant by "an unlikely romance with a good ending" and "probably between two human men, that worked last time" and "absolutely filthy pornographic, but with lots of _feelings_."  
  
After he answered every question to the best of his ability, the library-human looked thoughtful.  
  
"Wait here a moment," they said. "I'm going to ask a colleague of mine for recommendations."  
  
Then, the library-human went away for a while. Crowley occupied himself by disappearing all the available pens and pencils in the building and rematerializing them inside the paper towel dispensers in the lavatories.  
  
When the library-human returned, they were smiling.   
  
"I think I have just the book for you," they said. "How do you feel about murder mysteries?"  
  
"Intrigued by them," Crowley said.  
  
"And what about nudist colonies?" they asked.  
  
"In favor of," he said.   
  
"And do you object to police officers?"  
  
"I always strive to," he said, "loudly and often."  
  
The library-human laughed, joyfully, at what they presumed was a joke. Crowley grinned back at them. Libraries were actually excellent places, he decided. He was extremely pleased with himself for having chosen to visit one.  
  
"Well," the library-human explained, "in this book, you see, a police detective is one of the main characters."  
  
"Hmm," said Crowley. "Is he alright, though?"  
  
"He's a bit, well, how to put this–" The library-human was clearly struggling for words.  
  
"No need to be polite on my account."  
  
Library-human smiled nervously, and then whispered a word they weren't supposed to say to a patron.   
  
"He's a bit of a bastard, or so my colleague says. But apparently he's also very kind, especially towards the end."  
  
"Actually, I think that sounds perfect."   
  
"Oh! Oh, good. In that case I'll write down the title for you. Let me just find a pencil." They glanced at the desk. "That's odd. I could have sworn we had several..."  
  
Crowley sighed, suddenly exhausted by his own propensity for complicating things.  
  
☆  
  
Later that day, Crowley was sitting in a comfortable chair in a small café, reading his library book.  
  
It was indeed a murder mystery set at a nudist colony, which lent itself to wordplay about "exposing the culprit." (He made note of that for his embellishments and color commentary.) The leading man, Alastair, was a diligent police detective tasked with solving the crime. He wasn't so much going undercover as he was traipsing around completely _uncovered_ — to blend in, of course, as a newly arrived nudist resident.  
  
Unfortunately for him, one of the lead suspects recognized him immediately. The tall, quiet man with elegant fingers had been a dear friend of Alastair's throughout their adolescent years and young adulthood. They'd drifted apart after a misunderstanding led to a bitter argument and then James, the friend, had got himself into trouble with the law. But, they were both much older now — James was living a peaceful, solitary, and unclad life as a landscape painter. James was also very well endowed, Alastair noted, in terms of both artistic talent and his genitalia.  
  
Crowley approved of the story a great deal so far.   
  
The plot grew more intriguing the further he read and he became so engrossed in the novel that he stopped paying attention to the sights and sounds of the café around him. After he had been sitting for several hours at the same table, a barista approached him to explain that he'd need to make another purchase if he planned to remain. He had just begun reading one of the book's more intimate scenes.   
  
"I'm really not in the mood to be bothered," he said, without looking up from the page.   
  
Elsewhere in café, a large stack of dishes suddenly slipped from the countertop, hit the floor, and smashed into thousands of dangerously sharp little pieces. After that, the barista became exceedingly busy with clean up tasks, and could no longer spare the time to badger local demons who were quietly reading and not hurting anyone at all.  
  
It was dark outside by the time he finished the book and left the café. He had successfully avoided his own anxiety — and any further interaction with café-humans — for the entire afternoon.   
  
He returned to his flat, where he continued to distract himself by setting up his audio equipment. The microphone and recording device were a matched set, and a pleasure to look at. Matte black and smooth to the touch, they conformed to his preferred aesthetic: things he imagined a clever and worldly demon should own.  
  
He had never once opened the instruction manual. Devices worked for him because he wanted them to and trusted they would. Tonight would be no different.  
  
He started at the beginning, of course, but the reading went swiftly. By the end of the first hour, he was already a third of the way through. He read at a normal pace, but he had decided back at the café that he was not going to record every word of the novel. To that end, he had marked up the library book with a ballpoint pen, crossing out large sections of text. The descriptive details were vivid and poetic, but not needed for the resolution of the murder plot or the consumation of the romance.   
  
Forget the meaty excess, his narration would cut straight to the bone — an apropos turn of phrase for a book like this one: the dead body of the hapless murder victim had been cut up and disarticulated and of course, James and Alastair were about to have a lot of sex.   
  
They'd never done it before, that was the thrilling part. Perhaps they'd indulged with others or perhaps not. The book didn't say and Crowley didn't care enough to speculate. It was simply enough that "they'd longed for each other in their younger days, but neither James nor Alastair had ever made a move to close the distance." And now here they were, stark naked and constantly wanking — in secret of course — so as to prevent the evidence of their arousal from rising to the other's attention.  
  
"Secrecy fueled an atmosphere of paranoia and inflamed Alastair's suspicions. His feelings for James didn't matter, not if the man was brutal and cruel, a murderer at heart."  
  
It was all very dramatic.  
  
"Look, here's the thing," Crowley said to the microphone when the tension was becoming too much for him. "James didn't do it. Turns out it was that other fellow, Edgar or whatever — the bloke with the tattooed phallus... which, I mean... that's gotta _hurt_, don't you think?"  
  
He paused for a moment, considering it further, and then deciding. "I think it would hurt."  
  
Then he cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and continued reading. It probably wasn't a great idea to have given away the ending, but the murder plot wasn't the fun part anyway. The fun part was all the carnal stuff this pair of angst-ridden, horny humans were about to get up to.  
  
The investigation dragged on. James and Alastair had been dancing around each other for weeks, trying desperately to abstain, when at last their resolve gave out, crumbling beneath the weight of their mutual longing.  
  
"Here we are," Crowley said. "We've come to the part you've been waiting for."  
  
He laughed; he couldn't help himself. There was something particularly freeing about sitting in a dark room and speaking softly into a microphone. It felt private and safe, like a confessional, but without the creepy priest to hear his sins. He was about to say something he knew he'd probably regret.  
  
"I think you should put your hand down your trousers while I read what's next," Crowley said. "I think you really want to. And, hey, no shame in that. I mean, I _definitely_ want to. If I weren't so busy narrating right now, that's exactly what I would be doing. So, just think about it. I promise I won't tell anyone."  
  
He winked at the microphone, though of course his listener would never know it. And then he resumed the narration.  
  
"Alastair leaned closer. He was supposed to be interrogating his suspect, but the way James looked at him, with eyes full of trust and yearning, he couldn't bear to speak words of accusation."  
  
"'Please,' he said. And before he could whisper another syllable, James had surged forward to kiss him."  
  
That kiss was just the start. They were already naked, of course, and with lubricant acquired from a nearby bedside table, it wasn't long before "James had him open, moaning in pleasure. At long last, it was happening. Alastair could scarcely believe it, but it was real."  
  
Crowley paused in his reading to add, "Some blasphemy next. You've been warned." And without missing a beat, he picked up where he had left off.  
  
"'My God, yes,' the enraptured dectective whispered, to which James replied, 'Oh, holy _fuck_.'"  
  
"And fuck they certainly did."  
  
After their initial encounter, they couldn't keep away from each other. They both tried to abstain, but failed delightfully. By the time the book was three-quarters done, they'd had sex in side rooms and several hallways, on tables, against walls, and once even outdoors in a field, after Alastair interrupted James at his work. That scene was one of Crowley's favorites.  
  
"James took him on all fours. At least that's how they started. By the end, he had Alastair pressed to the earth beneath him. As he sheathed himself over and over, angling for release, he whispered, hot and fierce, into the ear of his dearest friend and lover, 'I know you don't trust me, but I love you just the same as if you did. I love you now and I always have.'"  
  
There was plenty of arousal and thrusting, licking and straining, breaching and filling and pounding and all of those lustful things that Crowley absolutely wanted to experience firsthand with Aziraphale. But, the best parts were the achingly tender confessions.  
  
"'It's not that you're beautiful,' Alastair said, as he stroked the naked length of James' endowment, 'though, of course you are. My friend, you're dear to me as no one else ever has been. And you know me in ways that no one else ever could.'"  
  
Crowley absolutely wasn't crying. He was simply imbuing his lines with emotion in a demonically accurate way.   
  
He had defaced a library book, for Satan's sake. He was very much a paragon of evil. He was also emotionally exhausted by the time he finished reading and clicked the button to end the recording. He wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week, but he was determined to see his project through.  
  
With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a case and packaging. He kept it simple: a plain dark cover with gold lettering for the title and name of the author. He placed the cassette tapes inside — because, of course, he didn't trust Aziraphale to understand CDs or digital audio files.   
  
The next step was to add a small, but cleverly crafted miracle to each cassette. They weren't meant for human ears. If a mortal being attempted to listen, the cassette would erase all its files. He added some fine print to the lower edge of the inside cover.   
  
_Audio quality always guaranteed. Contact excellence@h-ll.net for complaints and queries._  
  
If Aziraphale was planning to sell this thing to a human rather than set it aside for his own listening pleasure, Crowley was determined to know.  
  
The last thing, and he thought the cleverest by far, was to use the product listing as an opportunity to gather information. Rather than list it once, he created two identical pages for selling the audiobook. He created the first listing under HonestSeller666, the fake online store he'd operated for the past couple of years. With a miracle, he made sure the product was invisible to search engines and impervious to linking. If Aziraphale bought this copy, it would only be by visiting the online store directly.   
  
Crowley created the second product page for the same audiobook using a new and different seller profile. In order to find this one, Aziraphale would have to search online for the name _C.J. Anthony_.  
  
Depending on which version Aziraphale ordered, Crowley was ready to make several bold assumptions. If he purchased directly from HonestSeller666, that meant he was keeping tabs on the store. He had probably figured out the obvious pseudonym. So, he knew it was Crowley's store — which meant he also knew that he was ordering smutty books directly from his longtime friend and nominal nemesis. That would be interesting.  
  
If instead he bought the copy from the internet search, then he'd uncovered the pseudonym C.J. Anthony. But Aziraphale wouldn't have any reason to suspect that Crowley was operating the store, as well. He would probably assume that Crowley didn't know anything about his recent purchasing habits. He probably thought recording the audiobooks was just another bizarre facet of Crowley's work. Aziraphale would never suspect they were created solely and explicitly for his benefit. In a different way, that would also be interesting.  
  
Of course, if he didn't buy either of them, then he probably _had_ acquired the first one unwittingly and then sold it to a human customer.   
  
How terribly awkward for everyone.   
  
Or even worse — and _substantially_ more awkward — Aziraphale could have listened to the first one and then realized he'd made a dreadful mistake. He would have recoiled in shock and horror when he arrived at Crowley's desperate words of "yes, love... my angel." Aziraphale was fond of him, of course; that was a given. But, his desires weren't the same, and Crowley had been misreading them all along. He'd been yearning for a love that wasn't there and never could be. Aziraphale was an angel and he was a demon. There was simply no way it could work.  
  
All of a sudden, Crowley felt lonely and very tired. He conjured a drink and a blanket and curled up on his sofa to be miserable for a while and then fall into a fitful, uncomfortable night's sleep.  
  
It never even occurred to him that Aziraphale would attempt to purchase both copies. But, when he woke the next morning and checked his laptop, that was exactly what he discovered.  
  
"Oh, come on!" he said, because the first thing he felt was incredibly thwarted in all his cleverness and planning. But, as he reviewed the purchases, placed within a minute of each other, he realized that his plan had worked well after all.  
  
Aziraphale definitely knew it was him.   
  
He was keeping tabs on the store _and_ searching for works by C.J. Anthony. Crowley couldn't do otherwise but conclude that the angel was onto him. He understood that Crowley was recording these ridiculous books just for him. And it seemed as though he didn't mind.   
  
Crowley grinned as he deployed a miracle to duplicate the cassettes and their packaging. Aziraphale wanted two copies. Two copies he would get.  
  
☆  
  
Ever since he'd listened to the story of Zark and Roger, Aziraphale had spent part of every evening lying down in bed, undoing his trousers, and masturbating to the thought of having sex with Crowley. He was a terrible angel and he knew it. Because, the only thing he regretted about it was not having the sound of Crowley's voice to accompany his climax.  
  
He had tried taking out the audiobook and listening to it all over again. But, it wasn't quite the same. What he really wanted right now was to find a different one, where the story would be a surprise and the things Crowley said would be new and unexpected.  
  
He sat down at the computer and looked at it, then fiddled with the mouse for several minutes. He spent some time rearranging the desktop icons one by one. Then, he got up and grabbed a book he'd been meaning to reread. But, it was no good. A few minutes later he was back at the computer, full of nerves but determined.   
  
He'd learned his lesson after his first time searching for audiobooks online: He was done with exploring the internet in the human fashion. Instead, he decided to try out a miracle. He asked the computer to reveal all available audiobooks read by C.J. Anthony. And, to his great delight, the miracle worked.   
  
Sadly, there was only one more book — something called _The Naked Truth_, which sounded delightfully titillating. Two copies were available. In retrospect, Aziraphale wasn't sure why he purchased both of them. Perhaps it was simply that the sound of Crowley's voice was precious to him. He wanted all of it.  
  
He still wasn't certain what had driven Crowley to start creating audiobooks. He must have done it years ago, judging by the cassette tape format. From what Aziraphale understood, the cassette had reached its heyday in the early 1990s, before its usage had dropped off precipitously. Crowley was always so cutting edge, in terms of technology.  
  
The one thing he could count on with near absolute certainty was that Crowley would not be paying attention to the whereabouts of these strange, old recordings. Aziraphale's purchases would remain his own naughty little secret.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to all who have liked, commented, or recommended this series so far. Being part of this fandom has been so much fun and I love participating by sharing some humor. You can find [me on tumblr](http://fancytrinkets.tumblr.com/) if you're so inclined.
> 
> Additional note (Nov. 28, 2019): I am in the middle of writing the third part and I think it will be two chapters, set at different points in time, and I'm super excited to finish writing it and share it! There is a book with a wizard and an immortal being, and there is lots more yearning. And it's gonna get a little more sad, but not too badly. And then there is also some post-Apocalypse satisfaction for one angel and one demon. And I'm a massive dork, so I'm editing my own author's note to gush about it here!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Binary Systems](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20622524) by [cassieoh_draws (cassieoh)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh/pseuds/cassieoh_draws)
  * [[Podfic] The Naked Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25208866) by [Literarion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literarion/pseuds/Literarion)


End file.
